Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

LEMON

F or the first time in my life, I watched a hockey game yesterday. I did so at home where no one could see me googling what the hell was going on. Even by the end I had no idea what was happening, but I was on the edge of my couch cushion yelling at the ref when he sent one of Hansley’s players into time-out.

Thankfully, I was completely alone. Where no one could see how far I’d fallen. Watching hockey. Pfft!

They won their first game of the season and I was pretty sure something was wrong with me because I was fucking grinning like a fool when they did. I jumped up and punched the air before doing a little dance.

Then sat my ass back down, mortified.

Fucking hell.

But now I’m at school the next day and, once again, Hansley is nowhere. I’m pretending that doesn’t hurt because it really feels like he’s avoiding me now. How else am I supposed to feel?!

Sugar’s right. I bet he’s going through hell. And I put him in that position.

Not forcefully and not on my own. He certainly, willingly participated, but still. I did this. I kissed him first, and initiated almost every single encounter we’ve had. This is all me.

I’m a home-wrecker.

Distractedly, I step out of The Queer Palace Café with a Lush Lesbian slushie, but stop in my tracks when I see Hansley across the quad. He looks… a wreck. His facial hair is scruffy, and his hair is a rough mess. He’s still sexy as fuck, but he looks awful.

I stand there. Staring. Unsure what to do. I feel… guilty. And helpless.

I’m so distracted that I don’t quite register someone pausing next to me until they speak.

“Lemon?”

Flinching, I glare at Alka.

“You okay?”

“Yes,” I snap.

He sighs and gives me a wan smile before starting to walk away. Biting my lip, I groan and race after him. “Hold on.”

Alka stops and looks at me warily. I’m used to that look. Nodding in Hansley’s direction, I ask as casually as I can, “I hear he won yesterday.”

Alka grins. “He did.”

“Then why does he look like someone killed his cat?” I ask. Then I wince. Fuck, I hope he doesn’t actually have a cat that I maybe just jinxed. Sorry, kitty.

Alka looks at Hansley and his smile fades. “He’s going through a hard time personally.”

I want to push. I want to ask more. But I’m not sure I can bring myself to do so. “Is he leaving RDU?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, Lemon. You’re going to have to continue fundraising to replace the exorbitant excess you’ve always had to spend.”

This is why I hate Alka. We’re having a civil conversation and he has to be a dick. I glare at him and turn away, heading toward the athletic building. I’m sure that’s where he’s headed, but I make sure I’m far ahead of him by the time he decides to follow in my direction.

I shut my office door hard and fume for a minute. Taking a sip of my drink, I look around for a few minutes and then pull out my phone to text Hansley.

Lemon Frost

Come to my office. Now.

There is no answer. Even minutes later, I’m not even sure if he’s read it. Right before I’m about to storm out of here and search this entire campus for him, there’s a soft knock on my door.

Taking a breath, I say, “Yes?”

It opens and Hansley looks at me. Up close, he looks like even more of a mess. My stomach knots.

“Come in,” I invite, sounding sort of formal. My feet are glued to the spot, though. I can’t make myself move as I watch him step inside silently and shut the door.

Then we stare at each other. I really kind of want to accuse him of avoiding me, but I know that I have a big hand in whatever he’s going through personally.

“Come here,” I whisper.

“Lemon,” he says, shaking his head, “I’m really not in the mood for?—”

Cutting him off, I cross the room and grip the front of his shirt, wheeling him around until I can push him into a chair. He adjusts himself, frowning up at me. Once he’s still, I climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around him, hugging him tightly.

Hansley doesn’t move. I adjust so my legs fall through the sides of the chair under the armrests, silently noting that if there’s a fire, we’re basically dead. We’re going to be burned to death just like this. But I settle in and hug him.

For several moments, he doesn’t move. Then his hands land on my lower back, unsure. I’m about to demand that he hug me properly when his arms finally slide around my middle and he does. Almost harshly. His hold reminds me of Cody’s. Almost desperate. Filled with sadness and the need for someone to understand and comfort him.

Minutes go by. A lot of minutes. We don’t speak. I hold him until he releases me. Only then do I sit up. His eyes are red and I wonder if they were like that when he got here and I just hadn’t noticed.

“What was that for?” he asks.

“You needed a hug,” I answer.

He raises a brow.

Sighing in exaggeration, I tell him, “I spend a lot of time learning my kids.”

“Your kids?” he asks.

“My team. They’re not kids, of course. I only call them kids to myself or other staff. They get offended when I call them kids.”

He snorts. “No kidding.”

“I have a lot of kids,” I continue, emphasizing that I’m getting back to the point. “A hundred -twelve, to be exact. It takes a lot of time and effort to learn them, but I do. I make it a point to know who they are, what they’re studying, what they hope to achieve, what their goals are for the year. I want to know them as people. That way, I can tell when something is bothering them. I can see when their mental states change. I’m not sure about your barbaric sport, but football is as much mental as it is physical and skill.”

“Hockey is barbaric?” he asks, huffing.

“You break into fights like every two minutes,” I point out.

“You have entire positions whose only job is to run into people,” he says incredulously, as if we haven’t had this debate many times. “Like, their job is to be built like a house and as immovable as a wall.”

“You guys literally throw down on the ice,” I argue. “Like pads off. Punching. The whole thing. They have to go into time out when it gets too bad.”

He’s watching me and I’m a little disturbed when a smile climbs on his lips. Fuck. What did I just do?

“You’ve been watching, haven’t you?” he asks.

“No,” I say quickly.

“You’ve been learning hockey for me.”

“I have not,” I snap.

He laughs. I smile inwardly at the small victory of having made him laugh. But too soon, his head falls back and he closes his eyes. I stare at him and then get back to the point I was trying to make.

“The ‘normal’ in the world is that men especially, are not allowed to show weakness. No emotion. It’s not masculine. But I’ve learned that sometimes, you just need a hug. Whether you’re having a bad day or your grandmother’s in the hospital and you’re scared, sometimes a hug can give you a little more strength. It lets them know I see them. They’re not fighting alone.”

Hansley sighs. “Thanks.”

We’re quiet again. His hands are resting on my thighs, but his head is still back, and his eyes are closed. I chew the inside of my lip. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.

The small smile on his lips in response isn’t genuine. It’s almost sad. It’s another minute before he says, “Two days ago I told my wife that I’ve been having an affair.”

My stomach drops. Eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Not like how everyone says sorry on reflex, but… it’s kind of my fault and I’m sorry.”

Hansley picks his head up and gives me an almost amused look. He lifts a hand and tugs gently on one of my curls before letting his hand fall again. “It’s not your fault at all. I’m a grown ass man and fully capable of telling someone no.”

“I’ve been told I’m hard to say no to,” I point out. “Something about me being demanding and spoiled and always getting what I want.”

“You never say no to a queen,” he says.

I smile because the way my stomach flutters, I just can’t stop myself.

“But really, Lemon. I can say no. I just… don’t want to. Which is obviously an issue when you’re married.”

He leans his head back again and closes his eyes. I’m not sure what to say now. So I just stare at him. He doesn’t want to. Not didn’t. Like past tense. Does that mean it’s still going to happen? My heart is racing at the thought. “I um…”

My words hang there until he picks his head up. “Want another hug?” I ask, feeling pathetic.

Hansley nods. “Yeah. I think I do.”

Happily, I wrap around him again and his arms circle my waist. It’s not a tight hug like last time. There’s something better about this one, though. I can feel his need, his sadness, his misery. He’s trusting me with it. Allowing me to comfort him when maybe he feels like he doesn’t deserve that comfort.

“Is she okay?” I ask after a minute.

He huffs. “No.”

I wince. “Can I do anything?”

I feel his smile as he turns it into my neck. It’s hard to stifle the shiver that his lips on my skin create, but now is definitely not the time. “No,” he whispers. “But thank you.”

“I just… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing, Lemon. I participated in everything, fully aware that I’m married. I didn’t know how to tell her when I really should have weeks ago.”

“When I kissed you.”

He tilts his head from side to side. “Yes, but when you sucked me off is what I’m referring to, mostly. I’m not minimizing kissing as a form of cheating but… you took me off guard twice and I can legitimately say I was confused about the whole thing. Even if I pulled you to me and whatever. Again, not excusing it, but if that had been it and I had actually said no after that, I think maybe things would be different right now.”

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him I’m glad it didn’t go differently, but that’s not only insensitive, it’s also gross to say right now. I feel gross just thinking the words. What’s wrong with me?!

“But as soon as your mouth touched my dick? Yeah. That’s a line that I jumped over and… everything changed inside me then.”

“How? You realized you like men?”

Hansley laughs. “No. Sexuality has never been a concern of mine. I’ve always been of the impression that you should fall in love with a person and what’s in their pants is irrelevant. I’m actually a little relieved that as a person, I live that way and it’s not just a philosophy I spew.”

“You’re telling me it’s my winning personality that drew you in?” I deadpan. “Are you really leading with that?”

He laughs again and my heart skips. I’ve never heard him laugh like this. Not with me.

“No. I’m sure you have a wonderful personality, Lemon.”

I roll my eyes, but I abort it halfway through when his arms flex around me.

“No. What I’m saying in this particular incident is that your gender was irrelevant. I wasn’t intrigued by your kiss because you’re a man. Or with your mouth on me because you’re a man. Hell, even putting my dick in you is somewhat irrelevant. Believe it or not, women have mouths and ass holes too.”

This time I laugh.

“On some level, it really was your personality. You confused me. I couldn’t understand why you shot hate at me and then kissed me in the same breath. Over and over. I was further confused when I watched you on the field with your team that day because I saw a very different person in you. Every single encounter with you, Lemon, I’m more confused about who you are as a person for real and I’m infinitely fascinated. So yeah, the sex is great. I want to keep doing that. But it truly is your personality that influences a lot of my attraction to you.”

I’m not sure which of his statements makes me more breathless. Almost every sentence unpacks something else that makes my chest warm and tight. I grip him hard and squeeze my eyes closed.

I want to tell him he’s a good person. Literally, no one treats me the way he does. Even if it was confusion that made him tolerate me in the beginning, he kept coming back when he didn’t believe the hate I threw at him. Despite my many belligerent confrontations, he didn’t treat me like everyone else and just… disappear.

Hansley didn’t write me off as a spoiled asshole and wash his hands of me.

In some ways, even though I always set up our meetings or made him come to me, he kept coming back.

“I forget that hugs can be healing,” Hansley murmurs. “Thank you. I didn’t realize how much I need this.”

“It’s okay to ask for a hug,” I tell him. “That’s what I tell my kids. You need to know your own mental health and emotional needs and be strong enough to ask for what you need.”

“I think you’re secretly a really good guy, Lemon.”

“I’m a queen.” I sniff. “Of course, I’m good.”

“You are,” he says, chuckling. “Even if you don’t want to believe it and do everything you can to hide it.”

I snort. “Hardly.”

I can feel his amusement. “Your kids are lucky to have you,” he says after a minute. “With a team that size, I bet it’s easy to get lost in the crowd. I’ve had a lot of coaches over the last three decades and I can count on one hand how many I’ve had who cared about me as an individual as you do your 112 kids. That makes you a good person, Lemon.”

“Just don’t tell anyone. It would ruin my image.”

He chuckles.

We don’t talk much after that. But we don’t move either. For the next fuck knows how long, we remain wrapped up in each other on a chair in the middle of my office. I find it hard to believe he could be touch starved. I’m not sure if maybe I am.

But I think we might share something in common. He’s been struggling on his own with this for a while and I always keep everything to myself. While I haven’t actually let him in, he’s seen through me to some extent.

So we sit here, finding comfort in confiding to each other, and it’s probably the most perfect afternoon I’ve ever had.